Straight On Til Morning
by WorldsGreatestDefective
Summary: An AU where the four male Robins have been fending for themselves in Gotham's East End until the Batman happens upon them. Can a bond form between them after so much has happened? And, after so many years of working alone, can the Dark Knight handle a group of troublesome boys?
1. Chapter 1

**After some wildly busy months, I was recently inspired to write this story by seeing a picture in Silver Spider's apartment (love her stories!) and I couldn't quite shake it until I at least got this chapter down. It was a picture of Damian dressed up as different versions of Red Hood, Nightwing, Red Robin, and Batman, illustrated by James Nguyen. Instead of seeing them all as Damian, I couldn't help but see them a tiny Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. So, here we are. **

**If you're curious about ages, Dick is 11, Jason is 9, Tim is 8, and Damian is 5. **

* * *

><p>The bells of St. Martin's Cathedral tolled a solid twelve chimes, a welcome noise to the caped crime fighter beginning his patrol. The evening had proven quiet so far, with only a mugging and a few drug-addled fights peppered over the past hour. Batman pondered the thought of an early night until another sound met his ears.<p>

Whistling carried from one street corner to the next, from the roof five stories above him to the balcony across the block. Dark figures flitted around, then another new call sounded from further away. Batman lingered in the shadows and waited. Watched. He took note of their movements, their speed, their agility.

Their size.

The tallest, he wagered, was somewhere between four-and-a-half and four-and-three-quarters feet tall. The other three staggered down, though dropped sharply between the third and the fourth, who stood a full foot shorter than the first one. A slew of options ran through Batman's mind, racing at a million miles an hour. A company of little people who moonlighted as criminals along the rooftops of Crime Alley? Not likely. Possible, especially given all types that tended to frequent Gotham's Lower Eastside, but not altogether the most sound of options.

No, _that_ idea proved even more unsettling. Children. The majority of him decided to leave them be. Chances were they were returning home from a ridiculous game they had been playing, where their parents would give them an earful about being out so late and, especially, for dragging someone so young out with them. Hell, the smallest couldn't be any older than—

It wasn't his business. He had larger matters to attend to, and the goings on of children was too trivial an issue for Batman to ever get involved in. With a shake of his head at the retreating acrobatics of tiny shadows, he returned his attention to his city and the chiming of the bells. At least for a short while.

* * *

><p>"We were so close!" the second tallest could feel the heat rise in his ears as he paced the sidewalk of the half-abandoned block. "Seriously. This close. Fucking less than this close!"<p>

The third and fourth both sent him looks, though it was the tallest's whose held the most venom. "Jason! Don't say that word in front of Dami."

"Sorry, _Dick_," the boy replied with a roll of his eyes, "but it's not my fault if the situation calls for the F-bomb. If the fucking Batman hadn't been there, fucking lurking, we could have finished the fucking job."

"Fucking!" the smallest perked up from his spot on the stop before them. His eyes glinted in the streetlights that speckled here and there on the miserable street, his hands wrapped tightly around a glittering object.

The eldest boy gave Jason one more look then turned his attention to Damian. "What have you got there?"

"It's mine," Damian replied with a non-answer, pulling the object closer to him before it could be snatched away.

"Okay, but what is it that's yours?" Dick asked, gently coaxing the smallest child until Damian at least gave him a quick look at what his tiny hands had in their clutches. As soon as the object caught the light, Dick felt his heart thump hard in his chest. "Where did you get a knife?! We were barely in one place long enough to catch a breath, let alone get a knife."

"Someone left it," Damian shrugged. "It's mine now."

"Someone left it where?" prodded Dick.

"Outside."

"_Outside_?"

"By the fire escape."

"_By_ the fire escape?"

"On the window sill."

"_On_ the window sill?"

"Inside the apartment."

"Damian!"

The two middle children clasped hands over their mouths, chortling into their curved palms. Dick was torn between screaming at his brothers and just letting the whole thing go. After all, they could always use with another sharp object whenever the streets proved too rough for the boys' fists. Still, he knew they needed to be careful. One wrong move and they could be placed in a group home, together if they were lucky. Very lucky. If they were unlucky? The child shuddered at the thought, returning his focus to the others.

"Tim, don't encourage them. Jason, watch your mouth, especially around Damian. Dami, you know not to steal from _inside_ someone's home unless they're gone and we know they should be stolen from. We have rules. Also, don't repeat anything Jason says," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Come on. We better get inside."

Together they made their way through a half-blocked side door, barely hindered by the plywood and broken glass that surrounded them. As they climbed the creaking stairs of the condemned building, they paid little attention to the shadows of the night they had left behind. One particular shadow continued to watch them as they ascended to the apartment on the top floor, only moving once a window on the top floor illuminated with a dull flicker.

A few candles and a lamp fashioned out of a heavy-duty flashlight and a reworked window shade provided the only light in the small apartment. Buckets, a few chairs, a love seat that had seen better days, and a single, queen-sized mattress decorated the dingy living space. Batman adjusted his gaze to the modest kitchen area where a battery-operated hotplate brought a small pot's contents to a simmer.

"Lousy vermin," Jason mumbled, peeling his red hoodie off and tossing it to the corner. "If it weren't for him—"

"If it weren't for you, you mean," Dick spat back. "I told you to be more careful about where you tried to lift tires from. You're lucky Timmy warned us in time, and you're _really_ lucky you didn't get sent off again. They're not going to be so nice next time to stick you in a school around here."

Jason scoffed. "Some school that was, and I've done just fine with that trick plenty of times. How the hell else do you think we paid for half the food in here?"

"And lost half of our money trying to pay people off to keep their mouths shut," the elder countered. Before long, the two boys' fists balled tightly, knuckles white as their eyes stared daggers at one another.

It was only when Tim piped up with a, "Dinner's ready," that war stagnated and the four boys sat down around the pot. What looked to be two cans' worth of string beans was passed between them with the eldest ensuring the other three had proper amounts before feeding himself.

After a few minutes of heavy silence, Jason mumbled, "Sorry for being careless."

Dick sent the boy a small smile, dropping his fork to pat him on the back. "You weren't too careless. We got back okay, and got away from the Batman. Do you know how few people manage to do that?"

"Most people are idiots," Tim inserted.

"Fucking idiots," added Damian, earning another look from Dick and another round of stifled laughter from Tim and Jason.

"Now that we're talking about 'language arts,'" Dick started, sending a sharp gaze around the others, "how's that going?"

Tim made a face as he scooped up another spoonful. "I need more books. German is finished and the math one only goes as far as pre-Algebra. Oh! But I fixed the walkie talkies. That radio Jay lifted had the last pieces I needed."

Jason smiled and together the pair shared a high-five, earning a grin from Dick and a small, "Tt," from Damian.

"I heard more Spanish swears today. Oh, and I can tell you how to gut something in Mandarin now thanks to that butcher on Mott Street," Jason started in between shoveling food into his mouth. "Need a new copy of _Pride and Prejudice_, though. The one we got has pages torn out of it and notes all over the place. I hate it when people write in the margins."

"I'll make another library run soon," Dick replied. "Anything I should look for?"

Tim rattled off a series of engineering and physics texts while Jason mixed in his own classic literature and mythology requests. It was Damian that silenced them all with his demands of, "_Native Son_ and _Heart of Darkness_. If they have the literary companions to _Akira_, I require those."

The three older boys turned to stare at him, eyes wide, and Damian simply shrugged. It was Jason who first recovered his voice with a, "Dude, you're _five_." Another shrug and the youngest returned to his dinner.

For the next several minutes, Batman continued to watch as the boys finished their meager meal and cleaned up, then prepared for bed. He thought back to when he was their ages and what he and his friends (when he _did_ have them, at least) would have been like without parental supervision or Alfred hovering. _Lord of the Flies_ came to mind—a far cry from the order that took place before his eyes.

He should take them in. It was by all accounts the right thing to do. Get Child Services involved and ensure the boys were all taken into a proper home where they would be cared for by adults who would provide them with food, clothing, and schooling.

Only this was Gotham, and even Bruce Wayne was aware of how far from the truth that ideal world was in the world of the city's foster care system. Judging by the boys and, especially, by their previous conversation, they were more than aware of it, too.

As the lights were turned off and the inhabitants silenced inside, Batman hesitated before pulling a small batarang out from his utility belt and placing it on the window ledge. He scribbled a quick note and left it on top of the projectile, then took his leave.

* * *

><p>"We have to get out of here."<p>

Dick's voice was urgent, rising Jason in an instant from his sprawled position on the mattress. Damian was already awake, doing his morning ritual of headstand yoga moves while eating cereal. It took another minute of Dick quickly storming around the apartment gathering their belongings for Tim to wake up from his spot on the love seat.

"What happened?" Jason asked, getting up to help Dick in his task regardless of the answer. It wasn't like they weren't used to moving around, after all. It came with the territory.

The eldest paused in his mission to hand Jason the batarang and attached note. "He found us. Guess we didn't get away as much as I thought we did…"

Furrowing his eyebrows, Jason looked down at the weapon and scanned the neat writing.

_Press the button to call. —Batman_

Not a question, not a request. Hell, not even much of a note at all from what Jason could tell. He could almost hear it spoken in the commanding growl that often echoed around the alleyways of the East End.

All at once, Jason understood Dick's urgency and went in a whirlwind around the apartment to pick up anything they could carry that they would need, picking and choosing what they could leave behind. A groggy Tim wordlessly began helping. If the older boys found something to be worried about, chances were it was worth the anxiety.

Though, not everyone seemed to be of the same mind. From his spot on the floor, Damian righted himself and looked up to the other three. "Why can't we call him?" he asked.

"Are you kidding?" Jason asked. "He'd have us in juvie before we could even blink."

"Perhaps not."

Dick and Jason exchanged a look, but it was Tim who managed a, "Probably, though. He would at least report us to CPS."

"Which we need about as much as we need a hole in the head," insisted Jason.

Damian did not look particularly convinced, but rose to join the others in their straightening of the apartment. Within minutes, the boys had packed up anything of importance and piled anything worth donating to the side. Then, for anything that could lead anyone back to them, they cleaned or destroyed everything, even going so far as to light a fire in one of the metal pails. Dick watched the flames lick a paper he had assigned to himself to write for homework before it was devoured entirely. Though there was precious little about his stint in juvenile hall to be thankful for, his ability to cover his tracks and protect his own gave him something to be proud of.

Within the hour, the four of them trekked through the East End, avoiding the attention of the crack addicts and alcoholics, grateful that most of the real thugs were inside until the night fell. Apartment hunting was always easier during the daylight hours.

"Do you think he'll find us again?" Tim asked.

Dick thought for a moment, turning them down an alley with a stretch of abandoned buildings. "If he does, we'll hide again. No one is going to take us anywhere. Not without our say, at least."

Another look passed over Damian that the eldest caught out of the corner of his eye, but Jason's announcement of, "Here!" gave pause to any questions before they could form.

The four boys assessed the largest of the buildings on the block, spotting the barricaded front door and the sturdy-looking fire escape. They listened for a few moments to check if any other homeless had claimed the building to be theirs, but silence indicated it was safe enough to at least investigate further.

Jason led the way inside, followed soon by a scowling Damian. Before he raced inside with the other two, their tiny fists and tiny weapons at the ready, Tim glanced back at Dick. The older boy peered down at the batarang in his fist then forced a smile.

"Come on," he said, gesturing to the building. "Let's make sure they don't get killed."

"Or kill anyone," the younger added.

* * *

><p>The night was cool and mild, which part of Dick cursed. He could remember a time when he would have looked forward to an evening like this. Back when the circus had paused in another town and he had just enough time to explore their new location before the show started. Cool, still nights meant his father would take him into the campgrounds in a mock campout while his mother told him the history of the city they were in.<p>

He can still remember what she had said about Gotham.

_"__They say there is a man here that protects the city. Some people say they have seen him, and even the papers run stories here about the mysterious hero of the city. They call him the 'Batman'. He's been protecting Gotham for a few years now, since the city started its economic decline. Do you know what an economic decline is, my little bird?"_

Dick recalled shaking his head, and even in his daydreaming his current self couldn't help but mimic the movement to no one in particular.

_"__Well, it's when people fall on hard times. Kind of like when the circus runs into a city that doesn't support ticket sales as much as he would hope. Everyone has to tighten their belts and a few things have to be done without. Gotham has been like that for a while, but they have their own guardian angel. We may even get to see him while we're here."_

Some guardian angel, the boy thought bitterly. He hadn't prevented his own tragedy from occurring, and he certainly hadn't prevented him from being taken to juvenile hall rather than any children's home. The Batman wasn't there when the other boys would rough him up for "talking funny" or the adults would offer him more of a backhand than a helping hand for the same reasons.

Dick looked down at the batarang he held as he listened to the sounds of the boys he had taken under his wing, so to speak. Fewer than two years before he had stumbled across Jason Todd and his former neighbor, Tim Drake. He could still remember how defensive Jason got about the younger boy, and how defensive he could be now about the three he had now accepted. They were the Three Musketeers for a little while—Robin Hoods to be more accurate—until six months ago when Damian had crossed their paths.

Why hadn't the Batman helped any of them? Where had he been before now, before they crowded together from condemned building to condemned building, hoping to avoid CPS and the juvenile halls they'd no doubt be forced into? Hero his ass.

"You look like you're waiting for me," a voice ground out behind him. Dick was too full of frustrated energy to be scared. He turned to face the vigilante, who simply gestured down to the weapon the boy had been holding, its note still stuck to the side.

"I figured you'd show up sooner or later."

Batman nodded then looked around. "Where are your brothers?"

"We're not brothers," he said, a bit too quickly. An awkward silence tightened a knot in the boy's chest until he elaborated, "Not really. Not by blood. And they're not here. They're looking for… stuff."

"Stuff to steal?" Dick's eyes snapped up at the man's judgmental growl, his small fist squeezing the blade of the batarang until it damn near pierced his skin.

"We're not a bunch of damn street punks if that's what you think."

The eyelets of Batman's cowl narrowed and he leaned forward, allowing his eyes to pierce the hardened shell of the boy in front of him. "Watch your mouth," he snapped.

Though the child kept his jaw squared and his spine rigid, and blush crept into his already-flushed cheeks, his eyes turning down toward his feet. An inner war played out over the small face, his emotions bouncing back and forth between anger and embarrassment. At long last, the latter seemed to win out and he muttered a contrite, "Sorry."

He watches him for a moment, taking in the determined scowl mixed with his wide, curious eyes. "How old are you?"

The boy shifts uncomfortably. "Eleven."

"What's your name?" Batman ground out. Though he knew the answer, one look at the boy's stance told him just how much he should allow him to come forward with any information before admitting how much he already carried.

"Dick."

A dark look came over the vigilante's face. "What did I tell you about watching your mouth?"

The boy gave him an incredulous look. After a moment, realization dawned on him and he rolled his eyes. "That's my name. Dick—Richard. I know what it means, but I prefer to be called Dick. That's all you'll get from me."

Batman shifted, an apology on his lips that never quite takes on a voice. "Not anything else of you or the others?"

"No. That's it. I still don't know you from a hole in the wall, and the last thing any of us need is for the Batman to know enough to get us rounded up and taken away somewhere."

"What makes you think I would do that?"

Dick shrugged. "It's just what you do."

Silence except for the sound of distant sirens took over for a moment. Dick reached up to scratch a non-existent itch on the back of his neck, avoiding the bat's gaze until he added, "We don't hurt anyone, you know. Never have. Not on purpose, anyway."

"You don't think stealing hurts anyone?"

The preteen shook his head. "Not the people we steal from. Not much, anyway. Not like they got their money or their junk the honest way, anyway. And it's not like we don't give anything back. We're good kids. We'll keep it that way if you promise not to haul us off like the others."

Batman stared at the boy, reading his firm expression. The computer in his head ran down an inventory of traits while his knowledge of everything from genetics to psychology analyzed the data to the best of his ability. Though he had only gotten a passing look at the other three boys, mainly the second oldest, it was not enough information to discern the exact relation of the four children, though he suspected they were all at least somehow related. What he could detect, on the other hand, was the makeup of this particular boy.

A light olive complexion was obvious in spite of the darkness of the night. Judging by the shape of his noise, the curve of his mouth, the height of his cheekbones, he suspected Dick held at least some Eastern European heritage. His eye shape and face shape spoke of some British or French background, or at least something Western European. A very light hint of an accent said he was not originally from Gotham, and perhaps not even born in the country, and his height spoke of the state of his malnourishment.

"You're doing it, aren't you?" Dick interrupted in a breath. "That thing you do when you're not grappling after people or punching them to pieces."

"And what's that?"

Another shrug. "Detectiving. Whatever you want to call it, anyway. You remind me of a robot in one of those movies when they do the retinal scanner or something: how the blue light beams out and goes from the very top to the very bottom and takes in everything. That's what you just looked like."

Batman couldn't help but smile at that. "You're not so bad at that "detectiving" yourself."

Dick looked away briefly. "You pick up a few things after a while. You kind of have to around here. Especially with people to watch out for."

Before Batman could respond, the boy turned and jumped on the closed lid of the dumpster nearby before leaping onto the adjacent fire escape ladder. He climbed up to the roof, though hesitated once he shimmied over the edge. From the lamplight nearby, Batman saw Dick chewing on his lip, those same passes of anger and embarrassment battling it out. This time, the boy seemed to shove them both aside, allowing no more than a deep breath.

"Mr. Batman? I'm sure you got a lot just now. Like I said, I know it's what you do. We all know what you do around here. But, I'm not sure how much you got this: You don't know me. You don't know us. And, like I said, we'll keep being as good as we can be, and we don't want to be taken away. Got it? Just leave us alone and we'll leave you alone."

Then, without allowing even a second for the man to respond, Dick turned on his heels and ran off. Though Batman knew he could chase after him, place him over his shoulder and drag him wherever he damn well saw fit, and to hell with whatever the little brat said, he stood there and watched the last hints of his shadows die away.

After all, Dick was right. He didn't know him. He didn't know any of them.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much to everyone that has read and reviewed so far! All of your support, including favorites and follows, really means a lot to me! On to the next one...

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><p>The throbbing headache that had been problematic a few hours earlier was now reaching migraine levels. Still, Bruce just pressed his fingertips to the corners of his eyes and tried to alleviate the pressure before returning to his work. Minus the requisite bathroom breaks, it had been over twelve hours since the man had left the computer. A time or two, Alfred had sent a sarcastic, "Do you require a catheter?" his way. It was when his charge actually pondered the thought that Alfred left the man to his work.<p>

There was little information on any of the boys. Though he was able to discern last names and parents by the small bits Dick had given him and what he had overheard, Bruce was irritated to find just how unhelpful his search would become. There was more information on Richard than any of the rest, though even then it was spotty. A traveling circus acrobat in his early life, Dick's life took a sharp turn when his parents fell to their deaths during a sabotaged performance. Afterward, he had been sent to one of the many crowded juvenile detention centers before running away a year into his stint. Since then, nothing.

It took more searching to find a Jason and Tim that were neighbors a few years earlier and whose ages and appearances matched the descriptions of the middle boys. Full names and birth dates were a start, but Bruce became irritable at the lack of medical or dental records on the boys, let alone any coherent school records. He was able to track down news about Jason spending a brief period in a place called Ma Gunn's School for Boys, but even that had been short. Seemed Dick wasn't the only one with a knack for running away.

Finally, his search for Damian was even more frustrating. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was as if the boy never even existed, and he would have doubted he had even seen him if he hadn't had such a presence about him. Short of checking the boy's DNA, he had a sinking feeling that the boy would continue to be a mystery.

He pushed away from the computer and stretched his aching muscles. In that instant, Alfred placed a covered dish of hot cookies next to him.

"Appreciated," was all Bruce could manage.

"They're not for you, Master Bruce," Alfred returned. At the man's incredulous look, his butler continued, "Judging by the hour and your research subjects, I thought the boys may be more forthcoming if they had a few chocolate chips in their system."

"You mean none of them are for me?"

"Dessert is only given to those who actually eat their dinner, sir."

* * *

><p>Luxuries take on different meanings depending on the situation. As Dick sat on the floor of their new hideout, he realized running water had become one of them. In the last warm day of autumn before the chill of winter set in, the desire multiplied tenfold. Each passing moment made the boys feel more and more like animals.<p>

"You smell like a rotten fish threw up shit on a dead pig," Jason muttered to him.

"Nice picture," Dick replied. "How long did it take you to come up with that one?"

"Just a couple of minutes. If it didn't reek in here, it would have been less."

Growling—as much as Dick could, anyway—he rose and stormed around the apartment, packing a bag with clothes and books. The other three boys stared at his whirlwind for a few moments. Only when he began packing clothes for them, too, did Tim speak up.

"What are you doing?"

"We're going to the library. It's closed right now, we need new books, and I don't give a damn what the weather is like outside. We need a bath and they have empty bathrooms right now."

Though Damian and Jason would usually prepare to argue with Dick, at this point the desire for warm water and air conditioning won out. Within minutes, the boys made the trek to the rundown library on the edge of Gotham's East End.

While its other branches operated as 24/7 security guard, the library barely saw more than a passing officer ensuring the criminals didn't have the time to set up a meth lab in the library stacks. In the past couple of years, Dick had memorized the officers' schedules and the exact windows with broken locks and stable ledges. The only real obstacle this evening was making sure their combined stench didn't attract starving rats.

"You ready?" Dick asked, turning his attention to Jason when they approached the building's back fire escape.

Without a word, Jason knelt down and threaded his fingers together, creating a stoop for Dick to jump off of. In a well-practiced move, the second-oldest pulled up his hands as the acrobat stepped up, giving him the height he needed to pull down the ladder. They waited a few minutes in the shadows, straining to hear if the noise attracted unwanted attention. After a coast's clear, they lined up like ants and climbed their way inside.

A wall of cool air hit them first, earning a sigh of relief from the boys.

"I wish we could just live here," sighed Tim.

"Give the neighborhood another few years and it might be just as abandoned as everywhere else. Maybe we can then," Jason pointed out.

"Tt, it is no wonder this neighborhood is falling to ruin," mumbled Damian.

"This neighborhood has a lot more problems than people not wanting to check out books," said Dick. "Come on. Damian and Tim, you two take the soap and stuff out of the bag and go to the bathroom first. Jason, you can help me find the books we need until they're finished, then we'll switch."

Curt nods exchanged, the boys parted and Dick scoured the math section for anything that could help further their education. Jason slinked deeper into the library, no doubt to lose himself in the classic literature section. While part of him wanted to tell the other boy to hurry and find what they needed so they could get out before they were discovered, the rest of him kept quiet and appreciated the silence and comfort. There in the stacks, he could imagine a safe roof over his head, one that wasn't caving in on him, and one where he wasn't fully responsible for himself and three others who looked up to him like he had all the answers.

Dick scoffed at the thought. He barely knew if they were going to eat from day to day.

"Looking for something?"

The boy jumped at the voice. As recognition washed over him, he narrowed his eyes at the Batman that lurked in the shadows. "What the hell are you doing here? We're not hurting anyone! I thought you would leave us alone."

"Do you see me hauling you or anyone else off right now?"

Dick thought for a moment before shaking his head, shoulders relaxing.

"Then don't accuse me of anything and I'll continue not accusing you of anything." Though his tone was steady, there was a low rumble that made Dick hang his head.

"Sorry. Just scared me is all," he replied. "We're not stealing anything. We needed to get cleaned up and wanted to check out some books."

"Difficult to check anything out without a librarian present…"

Finding his courage, Dick crossed his arms and returned his stare to the Batman's eyelets. "We keep track of what we borrow and pay what we can for anything we keep out past what would be the due date. This place needs as much help as it can get. It's good to us, so we're good to it."

Not for the first time, Batman couldn't help but feel thrown by the child and his band of brothers. When the silence became awkward, he watched Dick shift, eyes darting to the floor every now and then.

"How did you know we'd be here?" the boy finally asked.

"You mentioned it the other evening. I patrol around here and check in from time to time."

"Creep."

Batman squared him with a harsh glare, forcing the child's eyes back to the floor. "Sorry. Just not used to being watched or anything. Not in any good way. What are you here for, anyway?"

His cape pulled back, and instinctively Dick stumbled a few steps away. He had seen pieces of the arsenal the man kept on him at all times. Hell, he still had the batarang tucked away in his jeans pocket. What he never expected, though, was a covered plate.

"What the heck…?"

"An associate believed these may be beneficial."

Uneasy, Dick took the plate. At the sight of cookies, his mouth began to salivate, damn near drooling on the floor.

"Holy chocolate chips!"

Batman was unable to suppress a laugh at that. The sound pulled Dick's attention back up to the vigilante, a smile creeping onto his lips.

"Thanks. They're not, uh, poisoned, right?"

"You believe I would poison a child?"

"I believe you would incapacitate a criminal."

Batman thought over his words, though it was more the choice of them rather than the accusation that gave him pause. "You and your accomplices are some of the best spoken criminals I have come across. Says something when you've yet to reach puberty."

Dick shrugged, returning his attention to the math books that lined the section, every now and then stealing another look to the cookies in his hands. "We school ourselves."

"Meaning?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." At Batman's heavy silence, Dick sighed and continued. "I was home schooled before my parents died, and Jason and Tim used to read a lot to themselves before they, umm, joined me. Damian we're not sure about, but he's crazy smart, so we think he read plenty. We want to keep it up. If we're going to get off these streets one of these days, we need to at least talk like real people. It's the least we can do."

Batman nodded in understanding, again unable to keep a smile from his face. It felt strange to grin so much while under the cowl, but there was something about the children and their actions that reminded him of his younger self. It was like looking into a filthy time machine-type mirror.

Really filthy.

"By saying you're also getting cleaned up here," he started, "you're using sinks in a closed building to bathe?"

Dick shrugged, pulling out an Algebra text. "Got a better idea?"

_A few_, the vigilante thought. He quickly pushed them all away, though. No way would any of the boys be willing to accept any perceived charity he had to offer. At least, not yet. Instead, he reached to the top shelf and pulled down a text, handing it to the boy.

"This one. It's what I used to teach myself when I was your age. I appreciated the real-world applications they mention in the book."

Dick glanced over the text, taking in the word problems. Mentions of wind resistance, body mass, and building heights tangled together with variables and formulas. A few of the problems he could even picture, half closing his eyes to imagine himself riding a train at "x" speed for "y" distance or jumping from building "m" to roof "n".

The images made him smile. "Thanks. You know, not just for this."

Batman nodded, his grin soon falling into a thin line. "If you require more help—"

"We can handle ourselves," Dick interrupted. After another heavy silence fell over them, the boy took a deep breath and added, "But, if we can't, I'll call. If I do, though, will there be more cookies?"

"We'll see," Batman said, leaving him with one last chuckle.

* * *

><p>Freshly bathed and with their books gathered, the boys placed their old books on the librarian's desk and dropped any spare change in their pockets next to them with a note of, "Thanks!" Only when they prepared to leave did Dick pull out the plate he had kept in his jacket, a few of the cookies crumpled but warm.<p>

"Where the hell did you get those?! This place checks out food now?" Jason asked, lunging for the plate.

"Whoa, hey! Watch it, grabby hands. Someone left them here. Maybe someone left them after a party or something."

"Who would celebrate a birthday in a silent reading room?" asks Damian, eyebrow arched.

"Tim," Jason and Dick answered simultaneously, to which Tim just nodded in agreement.

When Jason returned his attention to Dick and the pile of sugar he had happened upon, the eldest rolled his eyes and handed one to each of his brothers. Not a second later, all of them had devoured the food, pupils dilating like they had just had their first hits of a drug.

"I require another," Damian insisted.

"When we get home, maybe," Dick said. Though the other three groaned in protest, and even Dick's own stomach almost outright revolted, they managed to keep from turning into wild beasts and focused on the walk home.

The humid air slapped them in the face the moment they were back outside, making the heaving of books, cookies, and dirty clothes all the more difficult. Feeling less starved and grimy was a saving grace, allowing them the energy to return to their newfound home.

Dick glanced around each corner, keeping an eye out for the addicts and whores that roamed after hours. The deeper the boys walked into the rundown neighborhood and the later it got, the higher the chances of running into someone or something they would rather not be unprepared for. Police wandering by the library they could handle. A strung-out junkie spotting easy prey was another matter entirely.

It was only when they climbed through the window to their building that Dick let out a sigh of relief he wasn't aware he had been holding.

"Let's see what we can scrounge up for food around here before we destroy these cookies," he said, searching high and low in the desolate room. Minutes passed with opened cabinets and overturned trash only to have him come up empty-handed, save for the box of stale cereal that had been eaten through by mice.

"Cookies for dinner?" Jason asked, perking up. "Don't mind if I do!"

Dick slapped his hand away before he could grab the crack confections. "We need to ration these until we're able to make another food run. It may be a couple of days before we get anything. We can't just go nuts."

"Are there nuts in some of the cookies?" asked a hopeful Tim.

"A couple, but I think— It's not the point! We need to be careful about eating these. We're lucky we had them to begin with."

"I suppose thanks are in order for the sad party that left them," replied Damian. "Though I find it strange they took everything but a full plate."

Jason scowled, any thanks or suspicions far from his mind. "We have food _now_ and we can get more tomorrow. What's the problem?"

"The outdoor market is closed now since summer ended and you know getting food from the store on Park is a pain in the ass on Sundays and Mondays. There are people everywhere. We can't risk it for another few days, so we need to make these last and take what we can from random carts."

"We could get money," Tim suggested, to which Dick only titled his head.

"Did you have someone in mind?"

Jason grinned. "There's that meth lab that just opened up four blocks from here. Whoever is heading it would still be overseeing it until it gets off the ground. They'd be worth it."

"Are you insane?" Dick asked, Jason's smile falling. "You want to wander into a meth lab and rob whoever is in there? We don't even know who runs the place, plus it could explode if anything is overseen by anyone who doesn't know what they're doing. Anyone who _would _know what they're doing would be too smart to keep it unguarded. We're not going near there."

"If they're dumb, they're not looking, and if they're smart then they're probably rich and slow!" Jason countered. Dick watched as the boys starved green eyes bore into his, and his own stomach wondered how much of a point the younger one had. "We just need to get in there and get out. It's not like the damn thing would come crashing down the second we got in there! Five minutes and we'd probably be set with all the money we need for a month, or at least anything we could sell. Besides, while we're in there, we could totally sabotage the place! The last thing Park Row needs is a meth lab! We're bad enough without some _Texas Chainsaw_ blue crystal crap making this whole place worse!"

Dick stared at Jason, watching as his younger… whatever's desperation began to take a hold of him. It was desperation that made the elder shake his head.

"It's not worth it, Jay. It's dangerous, and we can get by without doing something stupid."

"We're kids living on the streets, Dick. This whole damn situation is stupid."

"Not worth getting killed over. We'll figure out more money and food later. Right now, we'll eat another cookie and just go to sleep. A plan can wait until morning. Okay?"

Jason hesitated, crossing his arms and turning his gaze down to the rotting floorboards below. Dick could almost hear the screaming happening in the boy's head and the gears turning to try and make this whole thing work. He knew there were reasons for Jason wanting to run in there and take down the whole thing. More reasons than he would ever say out loud. None of them made it worth the risk.

Before Dick could open his mouth to reason with him, Tim pulled on Jason's sleeve, bringing his green eyes to Tim's blue. "We'll be okay. We don't want you to get hurt."

His voice was heavy with the same unspoken words hanging heavy on Dick's mind, but something in Tim's tone relaxed the second Robin Hood. He nodded, shoulders slumping.

"Fine. We'll figure it out in the morning. But we better get the biggest cookies on that plate tonight to hold us over."

Dick couldn't help but laugh at that, half out of relief as he passed out the dessert. "Fair enough. Don't scarf it down like last time, though."

The other three grabbed before he finished, though at least had the good sense to take their time on the second round. As if it were their last meal on earth, all four boys nibbles and savored every last morsel. Once the last crumb was long past dissolved, Dick rewrapped the plate and placed it somewhere safe and out of sight.

* * *

><p>It wasn't the moonlight that surprised Tim when he woke in the middle of the night. He was used to bad dreams and the darkness that came with. What was strange was the lack of warmth on an unseasonably balmy day. He opened his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the dim lighting, then turned to assess his surroundings.<p>

He knew it wasn't natural to run through statistics in his mind as he glanced over the room. Most eight-year-olds, so he had been told, did not have a computer for a mind. Most also didn't sleep on the floor of an abandoned building, so to hell with normal.

But even now, _his_ normal felt off. Another moment of adjusting and his breath caught at the realization.

He took as deep a breath as he could manage in his shaking lungs, and crawled forward toward Dick. The elder boy was sprawled out, hands curled around an invisible bar and brow furrowed at an invisible threat.

"Dick," Tim chanced, quietly shaking the boy.

"Mmmffff…" Dick mumbled.

Another try, more urgent this time. Nearby, Damian stirred, slowly opening bleary eyes to witness the exchange.

Third time was a charm as Tim tried again, Dick bolting upright at the pressure. The leader spun his head around, catching a grip on his reality until the last of the nightmare he had been locked in faded away. After a moment, he wiped his sweaty brow and looked up to Tim.

"What's wrong?" he asked, hoping to sound alright.

Except something about Tim's face told him he was anything but.

"Dick, Jay's gone…"


	3. Chapter 3

Panic. Blind, horrible panic filled Dick's stomach and swelled into his chest, making his limbs tremble. Jason was gone, and he had a pretty solid idea of where he went. There was no doubt in his mind the second oldest of their band of brothers had chanced it with the meth lab starting up a few blocks down. Dick cursed himself, knowing he should have paid more attention. With Jason's mixture of self-sacrificing heroics and his hatred for drugs, it was obvious what he had been planning on doing.

All he had needed was a reason, and Dick explaining their lack of money and food had been the final nail in the coffin. He hoped it wasn't the final nail in Jason's coffin, too.

"We need to get him," he said, pushing himself off the floor and getting changed. Though dirty, his best hoodie provided more pocket space for weapons and more protection against the cold and potential assaults. His best jeans hid enough knives and were lose enough to allow an extra pair underneath for additional protection.

Without a word, Tim stood up and followed Dick's lead, preparing for anything between a rescue attempt to an all-out battle. Only Damian showed restraint in his redressing, taking the time to assess what may be needed and what he would require room for.

"If we find him unharmed, I say we hurt him," the youngest said.

"We'll figure it out later," replied Dick. Truth be told, most of him agreed with Damian.

"I say he doesn't get any more cookies. That should be enough," Tim said, face creased in anxiety. "Unless he actually gets hurt. Then he can have one. You don't think he's going to get seriously hurt, do you?"

Dick turned to Tim, brows furrowed. "I don't know. We'll know when we get there."

The cold air had taken on a more bitter bite since they had arrived home hours earlier. The wind snapped in their faces as the three boys made their trek deeper into Park Row's hellish underbelly. Dick no longer cared about the junkies or prostitutes that lined the streets. His only concern was Jason, and they could worry about the rest when they knew their pseudo sibling wasn't in danger.

The warehouse meth lab looked like something out of a horror film: rusting metal window sills adorned broken panes, adding to the crumbling concrete facade. Dick shuddered at the idea of Jason being in there somewhere, and even more when he was willingly stepping inside with the younger two of their group. He was so going to kill Jason. If the boy was still alive...

Shaking off yet another bad thought, he pushed forward through the bitter wind toward the fire escape, climbing up to the second level to perch and observe the interior. Two men paced inside, their heads jerking every now and then and their steps uneven. Perfect, junkie guards. This made things _so_ much easier.

Tim craned his neck, searching methodically up and down while Damian narrowed his eyes down at the men tweaking below.

"They would be easy to dispose of," the latter pointed out. "Their absence would aid in our search."

"You know that's not how we work," said Dick.

"Tt."

Tim didn't look away, inserting, "We don't know who may be away from the main room, and we could let them know where we are without even knowing if Jason is here or where he might be if he is here. We should stay put."

"I would alert no one," scoffed Damian.

Dick shook his head. "We're not jumping in there without thinking. That's what Jason did and we shouldn't be recreating his mistake."

"Well," Tim mumbled, briefly pulling his eyes away, "we don't even know if he is in trouble, and he was only trying to help us, right? He could be fine and we could have money for food now."

"Or he could be dead..."

"Damian!" Dick hissed. "Whatever we do, we do together. We can talk about it later. For now, we just need to find him, make sure he's okay, and get the hell back home."

"It is not home," sad Damian.

"If we were okay, we wouldn't think about stealing from a meth lab," said Tim.

Dick took a deep breath, pushing away the thoughts and doubts overwhelming him. One focus at a time. He could only think about one thing at a time, and he would figure everything else out later. Worrying about their entire living situation in this moment wasn't going to do Jason or any of them any favors. Only when they were back and safe together could he take the five seconds to remember he was miserable and too young for this mess.

Not that he had a choice.

Silence passed over them over more breaths than Dick cared to count. Waiting in lives like theirs was the worst. Waiting for food, waiting for warmth, waiting to make sure the next injury didn't get infected or the next cold didn't turn into pneumonia. If Dick had to guess, more people in the East End died of waiting for something than from anything else.

"Hey!" whispered Tim, breaking the other two from their individual thoughts. "I think I see something.

He pointed down to a door that had opened, a rope leading inside. Long and coiled, it led from a stilled machine on the main floor into the darkened room past the opened door. A man with slicked-back blond hair emerged from the room, toying with the rope as the tweaking two giggled between scratching their skin.

"What are they saying?" asked Dick.

"Impossible to tell," said Damian.

Nonetheless, the three of them strained their ears for any hint of what was happening. A moment later, they did not even need their hearing. In fact, part of them was grateful most of their senses were blocked from what happened next.

One of the tweaking guards activated the machine connected to the rope, reeling it back like a fishing lure. They watched as it tightened, pulling something closer and closer to the center of the room. Dick crossed his fingers for a bag of supplies or some box of equipment to be on the other end.

Crossing his fingers never did seem to work.

As the rope was pulled to its last few yards, a struggling form emerged. Jason kicked, punched, and spat in all directions in his attempt to get free.

"At least he is not begging," said Damian, his voice even until the last syllable. He cleared his throat at the slight shake that happened, adjusting his posture so he could get a better look through the window.

Tim grit his teeth, managing a quiet, "Jason doesn't beg," through his clenched jaws.

That didn't stop him from fighting tooth and nail, quite literally, to get out of his binds. The tweaking men continued to laugh between scratching or jerking their limbs here and there, where the blond man watched, his eyes unblinking with each pull of the small boy.

"We need to get in there," insisted Tim.

They had no plan. No clue as to what to do or how to even protect themselves from the men inside. Damian showed the knife he had confiscated the other night, but Dick knew a knife against even three mindless thugs was like pointing a B.B. gun at a raging lion.

Without a second thought, Dick reached deep into his jeans pocket and pressed the button on the batarang before turning to the other two. "We just need to distract them and get that machine to stop. We'll figure out the rest later."

Tim eyed him suspiciously for all of an instant before the three of them bolted inside. Questions, they all figured, could wait until they were whole again.

Like a trio of suicidal flying monkeys, they burst into the warehouse yelping at the top of their lungs. Their bellows caught the thugs off-guard, halting the machine and their tweaked-out plans. Dick could see Jason turn the best he could to face them, peering in several directions in a disoriented haze. A few more seconds of running toward the heap, and the eldest spotted the reasons for his daze: his eyes were swelling or swollen shut and it looked as if one of them had boxed his ears, leaving blood trickling out of one canal.

Even still, he managed a smile at his rescuers.

The scene was enough to light a fire under Dick, both from relief at seeing Jason alive—hurt, but alive—and from unbridled anger at the damage done to him. To a _child_ by adults. It wasn't exactly a new concept to any of them how depraved adults could be, even to children, but that didn't stop the sight of it from turning Dick's stomach. He screeched and ran toward one of the guards, flipping just as the man prepared to grab him. Before his target could regain his bearings, Dick used his new momentum and height to kick him in the collarbone. A satisfying yell broke from the man, though it was quickly halted when Dick then followed up with a hit to the throat.

He knew he should be careful and mind his rage before he did any irreparable damage. While the thugs were no doubt willing to leave Jason crippled or dead, Dick knew they had to be better. That didn't stop his foot from connecting to his struggling opponent's kneecap.

Nearby, Damian didn't seem to be having the same moral struggles. The youngest pierced the other guard's thigh, sending the dulled knife clean into the thick muscle. Letting out a blood-curdling scream, the man collapsed just as Damian pulled out the knife and sending it into the man's bicep.

"Hey!" Dick shouted. "We don't do that!"

Damian leveled Dick with a look, but pulled out the knife and tossed it to the side, now attacking with his closed fists. He was a wild animal, fending off the blond and the other rabid gangster lie a whirling dervish. Beyond him, Tim was pulling the chains off of Jason and assessing his wounds.

"Anything broken?" he asked.

"Probably," coughed Jason, managing to give a half-smirk through his pain. "Half the fun."

Tim shook his head, looking half-tempted to break another bone. "You're an idiot."

"New here?" Jason struggled, holding his ribs. "I'm always an idiot."

Damian shook his head nearby, kicking his target in the clavicle. "No one is surprised."

Dick struggled between his desires to laugh and to rush over to Jason and kick him in a few more of his ribs. Over and over, he reminded himself how they got here, why Jason had rushed ahead. He had just wanted to help. Help, however, should never come from the financial stores of a meth lab. Not for the first time, Dick realized how unusual their situation was, and how ill-equipped he was to handle it.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he chose to run over to Jason, assessing as much damage as he could. Over the last couple of years, Dick had become as much of an expert on injuries as any eleven-year-old boy could be. It didn't make him a doctor, though, and Jason needed one.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he asked, trying to help lift him without exacerbating his wounds.

"I was thinking… I was hungry," groaned Jason. "And so we-were the rest of you."

Dick didn't argue. Not so much because he couldn't or wouldn't, but because a shattering interrupted his next thought, keeping his sardonic bite from lashing out at the wounded boy. All four of them looked up, readying themselves for another attacker.

Black kevlar and glass shards fell from the second floor. Or, as Dick saw, glided down before landing mere feet from them. The tweaking thugs and the blond forgot Damian and nearly collided into each other at the sight, their dilated eyes bulging. Before their misfiring brains told them to book it, Batman began pounding them to kingdom come.

Hearts racing, the four boys watched the scene like they were witnessing an action scene from some summer blockbuster. Every punch crunched unnaturally and every scream erupted in an eery wail. In a matter of moments, the three worked-over thugs were out cold and Batman shifted his attention to the children.

The other three tensed around him, but the eldest boy found his nerves calm at the sight. When did he start to feel less threatened by the dark figure? He pushed the thought away, especially the implications of safety that came with it, instead bringing his focus back to Jason.

"He's hurt," he said. No greeting, no explanation.

As Batman took a silent assessment of the child laying on the floor, Dick's young companions stared wide-eyed at him.

"How did he know we were here?" demanded Damian.

"We needed help," answered Dick, jaw clenching. He moved his gaze to Tim, the only one not looking at him like a traitor, and insisted, "I did what I needed to do."

"It was not your call to make alone," came Damian.

Jason, meanwhile, tore his gaze from Dick to the bat now looking over his injuries. When the black gloves reached down to help him take a closer look, Jason bit the closest finger. He caught a mouthful of rubber, blood, and who-the-hell knew, his small teeth barely enough to even register to the vigilante.

"Stay still," the bat ordered, yanking his hand back but otherwise unbothered.

"Hell no!" snapped Jason, the force making him cough. "You're… you're just going to… to turn us in when you're done."

"Would you rather be dead than turned over to the authorities?"

Dick tensed at his words as Jason released a savage, "Damn right!"

Tim and Damian glared between the Dark Knight and the comrade who had called him. It was like watching a split-screen documentary on fight and flight: Damian curled his fists in preparation while Tim ran the calculations on their likelihood of escape.

"You're not going to die," growled Batman. "And I am not turning you in. You have a broken collarbone, at least some bruised, if not broken, ribs, and probably some internal bleeding. You're going to a doctor."

Dick's eyes widened and he shook his head. "No! No doctors. The second you get us into a hospital, CPS will swarm all over us!"

"You—" Batman started, but he was quickly interrupted by Dick's rising panic.

"I should have known better than to signal you! You're just like the rest of the police and everyone else. We're going to get separated and locked up, or worse! No. No damn police!"

"Dick—" Batman tried again.

"No! You fix him or I'll figure out a way to do it, but we're not doing to any hospital for them to look at us like rats and—"

"RICHARD!"

All four boys jumped at Batman's harsh voice, and Tim could swear if the thugs had woken up the fear from the outburst would have knocked them right back out. A hush fell over them and stretched on as Batman stared at the target of his yell until finally Dick curled in a little, shoulders slumping.

"We are going to a clinic nearby. I know a doctor there. No one is going to be called. You have my word."

Dick took a deep breath and glanced around at the others. Between Jason's pitiful form and the exhaustion radiating off the rest of them, he knew they had no other choice. It was better than the alternative. Besides, he had asked Batman to come.

As eyes of blue, hazel, and green landed on his own, it was clear they were all thinking the same thing. Whatever happened next was on him.


End file.
